


My dire affliction, I'll attribute to you

by ryoku



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: AU based on a movie, Gen, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renowned scientist Dr. Kaizuka Inaho remains in the testing phase of his highly controversial hypothesis. Coined the 'Eye Print' study, Kaizuka hopes to prove that through his mapping of retina, that humans are able to transcend death. Kaizuka is canvassing the globe for ten year old children born in January, with blue-green eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My original summary was to long. Please read the whole thing below...

 

> _"Renowned scientist Dr. Kaizuka Inaho remains in the testing phase of his highly controversial hypothesis. Coined the 'Eye Print' study, Kaizuka hypothesizes that through mapping of intricate personalized retina, humans may be able to better understand the essence of relationships between identity transcending that of singular lifetimes. You read that correctly, Kaizuka hopes to prove that through his mapping of retina, that humans are able to transcend death. His study plays upon the same theory that makes finger printing a credible science: that every individual has an intricate, specialized retina print that is unique to only them. Kaizuka is seeking to match living individuals with retinas of the deceased, and through a series of tests relating to memories of the previous life, determine if the person is indeed a reincarnate of the deceased. Kaizuka is canvassing the globe for ten year old children born in January, with blue-green eyes. With such a daunting task in front of him, Kaizuka seems surprisingly optimistic, and highly assured in the validity of his theory, and his ability to find one single child that fits his ideal profile. "I've spent several years on this project, but I've yet to find the child I'm looking for. Of course there is only one child I'm looking for," he told us. "It has taken a great deal of time, but I am patient, and science works on no schedule."_

 

 

 

 

 

**Prologue**

 

 

He dreams of her often, but the details are ever changing. Her hair is shades of gold one night, brown another, and then a week later, she is a pale blond instead of the vibrant gold of before. She is taller, she is shorter, she is petite but powerful. Her smile is vibrant, her lips supple and gorgeous as they shape around words and sounds and blessed air. He remembers meeting her at 13 or 15, it was an odd number, but not too old. Old enough that she was taller than him, until he caught her at 20 something. He remembers her favorite foods and the sounds she made when she ate, her willow neck as he lavished it with attention. He remembers a huge range of laughter, from small to large to kind to cruel to sweet to bitter, and every shape or flavor between, but there are a few he still misses, that will never come back to him. He thinks of questions left unsaid, of answers he'll never have, of letters long burned in desperation and handwriting that will never be scrawled neatly across post it notes or note cards or journals with pithy daily mutterings. He envisions splashes of color and paint and dye and fabric draped and flowing around sun kissed legs and ocean sprays on milky skin.

 

He remembers, or dreams, or imagines these things; they all blend into one person with different features, a complex being that he knew, and loved, and misses more than he is able to comprehend. She slips out of his fingers like sand and water, like mud crumbling through the gaps in his fingers, but leaving enough soupy grains that he feels like there is more than there is.

 

She died at 22, a year after they were married, and ten years later, he has not stopped missing her for even one day.

 

But of all the things that slip in and out of him, of all the small instances that remind him, and tear him to pieces, Inaho remembers her eyes. They haunt and smile at him, their color so unique and distinct that he recognizes them every time he catches a glimpse. Those eyes are his dreams, his nightmares, his past, and Inaho is sure, his future. Those eyes are the key, their intricate weave, their distinctive color, all that is good and bring in the world was held inside them, and he is positive that he will find them again.


	2. Chapter 2

When Inaho was eight, his family was in an accident. It was very serious. He almost died, but he was luckier than his parents. His sister was either the luckiest, or the most unlucky, depending on how he looks at the situation in hindsight. Yuki was away, so she escaped the incident unscathed as far as flesh was concerned. The emotional impact was worse, Yuki bore the brunt of it; she bore it alone, without complaint. She was a strong willow for him to hide under, and she never once wavered in this dedication, but she and he were suddenly alone. For several months, it seemed very likely that she would lose him too. He doesn't understand the pain this must have caused her, but he tries. She never once cried. She stood proud and strong and resilient against the odds facing them. 

He lost his left eye in the incident, and a surprisingly large part of his brain. When he did recover, his silence made the doctors think there was something wrong with him. It was a stigma that would not leave, no matter how his older sister protested that he had always been quiet, that there was nothing wrong with him. Perhaps worst of all, he couldn't remember if she was telling the truth, or lying for his sake. Had he been quiet? Was there something wrong with him? He didn't know, and he didn't know which would be worse -that he was born this way, or that he was now stuck this way. 

He was unable to relate to people. People thought he was strange. They didn't understand him. They didn't like him. He was to quiet. He wasn't normal. These were all things that people piled upon his tiny shoulders, and they were all true. They looked at him, and said things like 'An incident like that, it's to be expected.' No matter what comfort Yuki could bring him, these things were all true, and he could not simply be what everyone else wanted him to be. He could not wish himself normal, and at how the 'normal' people treated him, he didn't want to. He wanted to be like Yuki, strong, reliable, dependable, and always with the right thing to say. Inaho was none of these things. He was weak, no one needed to rely or depend on him, he was slight, unimposing, and every time he opened his mouth, he said the wrong thing, even if it was right. It was surely impossible for him to be like Yuki, he would realize that at some point, but early in his life he tried. He tried very hard.

What he did have was what remained of his brain, and that worked much better than anyone (other than Yuki) anticipated. For how unnatural he was, he was ten times as smart as the rest of them, those foul 'normal' people. He forced himself un-resentful, and un-malicious, because those things were un-Yuki. They only hurt her, because when he failed, it was her fault. When he didn't fit in, it was her fault, and when people didn't like him, she worried. This was unfair, so he tried harder, but what he lacked was not something he could simply replace. 

At around fifteen, he'd created himself an eye, more advanced than most super computers. It was proof that he could create, that he was not flawed or broken or lacking. He thought that perhaps without the physical deformity, others would be kinder, they would relent. He was mistaken, they did not. But with scorn, also came accolade. He was renowned at a young age, even if the media hated him. People wanted to study him, wanted to know how his brain worked side by side with a super computer. He was more interested in the money they promised, because Yuki had spent every dime to support his eccentric, scientific habits. They didn't like him; they thought he was a freak, but an interesting one to look at. But, by then, it mattered a lot less. She had walked into his life. 

She didn't get along with others either, but they were perfect together. She compensated his faults, people called her kind and emotional, where as people called him cold and aloof, but of course, no one else understood them to know any better. He'd been working on the eye thing for a while, but it was only after she came into his life, that he made it actually work. The retina in his analytical engine is hers, a perfect matching map. He remembers her joking, her voice a lifting tone of brilliance, how every time he'd look in the mirror, he'd see one of her eyes looking back at him. Inaho only realized after she was gone that it was true, and regrets making the color his own, making it a dull boring red when her aqua had so enriched his life. 

Eyes were an interest ever since he lost one, but they didn't become a career choice until he lost her, and she kept looking back at him through the mirror every morning. Yuki tells him to move on, to find someone else, to focus on his research if that's what he needs. She wants him to be normal again, but how can he let that gaping wound heal when the stitches come undone every time he looks in a mirror, catches his reflection in a cup of coffee, walks through the rain, sits in front of blank screens. There is no escape, there are so few solutions.

What the magazines don't publish, what the thesis didn't say, what the hypothesis doesn't include, is that he is right. None of them will ever say he is right. He will die with it unproven, untested, and likely a hack. He doesn't care, because the research, the toil, the proof that yes it's true and no other breathing soul will ever know, is because he needs her, not because he is some scion of science and knowledge. Science is only as good as its use, and he will keep it for himself, hideaway and burn the facts, the proofs, the undeniable evidence that he is right, because only he will use it. It only has one use, only ever did. 

None of them need to know it is right, because he must continue to search, and as far as the inquires the interns the interested onlookers are concerned, he will never find what he searches for. Because when he does, they won't like it. There will be problems. People will be on his doorstep crying and wailing of lost sons and daughters, of loved one and tragedies and 'Find them, help us!' and he can't afford that. He doesn't have the time; he can't indulge every sob story that comes to his door, even if they have bags and bags of money. His heart is bleeding enough, he has to plug some of the wounds. Inaho knows the importance of time, has for ten years now and he refuses to waste it. 

It is also a secret that his eye does the work. He has the interns take detailed pictures for comparisons, so that they can file the things away in cases and cases and storage sheds of cases, never to be looked at again. His eye does it all; it has the retina print it needs, so it's a simple comparison. All he needs is a glance, and he will know, but they still take the pictures, because he is not sharing his research, it's for him, but no one else is going to know that. The naysayers think he does them all himself, like the old finger print technicians, getting paid pennies to look at lines and bends and curves all day. They think he does that with those pictures, but they are wrong. He doesn't have that time, but he lets them think it none the less.

And there are millions and millions of pictures. Some days, he even pulls some out, tosses them in the air, and watches as they twirl like a beautiful woman in a while sundress dances on the crystal sands of the sea. Like the fluttering of milky lashes over delicate ocean eyes. None of the pictures match, no school he has ever gone to has provided the single child he is looking for. 

The statistical impossibility is astounding. Inaho thinks of them often, but he doesn't allow them to slow him down. He has the rest of his life to look, so he will. They're soul mates, he'll find her or die trying; there are no other options. 

Of course no one knows who he is looking for. Every record says he's looking for an old woman that died ten years ago. But no matter how the interns might look, they'll never find the eye they're meant to compare too. They aren't meant to, it's on no paper. He is the only one who checks, it is his research, it is his project, and Inaho is not good at sharing. If it got out, he'd sound like some Greek romance. He doesn't want Lolita. There is no perverse sexual fantasy to speak of, but if they find out, that is what they'd say. They'd call him crazy, and he isn't. He's driven and in love, and in mourning. There's a difference. He's looking for a piece of his soul that is missing, not flesh or kisses or even vows. All he wants is the piece that fit with his, and he can be happy, but no one will understand that. Not even Yuki would understand, so he can't let it go, he can't relay it to even a single soul. For the happiness he wants to preserve, for the security he will need when he finds that missing piece, Inaho keeps his lips shut, his genius wrapped in papers and ink that endlessly say nothing at all. It isn't for them, it's for her, because she is missing her part too; she doesn't know it yet, but she is, where ever she has landed. 

Some days, he thinks she would be proud of him. She'd ruffle his hair and tell him how admirable his work has been. How only he can find her, flitting between the creases in a map that is too large. Other days, he thinks she would cry, tell him his wasting is wrong, his genius to squandered, his gaze to focused for the rest of the world to be let in. It doesn't matter. What does matter, is he doesn't know what she'd say. He loved and cherished and cared and looks at her eye every day of his life, and he doesn't know how she would react, and isn't that true love? When a person can so entirely surprise you that every day is new and bright and dangerous. 

He wants it back. 

It is a surprise that none of the papers do it. None of the magazine, none of the studies, none of the orphanage visits, and none of the schools the globe over. It is none of these things, it is none of the money that has been spent needlessly for the pursuit of the theory he has already proven. 

It is a bakery in Paris, on a chilly winter morning in December. For once, he breaks his routine. For once, he leaves his hotel room, and walks down the street to acquire his breakfast. The bakery is small, new, and bright. His French is lacking, and he doesn't care enough to polish, so he points at something dismissively, and watches as the clerk sneers at him for his rudeness, and bags the item. 

The shopkeeper is bagging, when the door to the shop opens, and the little bell jingles. The clerk looks up, and smiles brightly at the newcomer. They share greetings, and as the new customer speaks, Inaho realizes it is a child. He expects nothing, he has canvassed the Paris schools and academies and orphanages and hospitals in the seven years he has been looking. He still looks, as the child orders a pain du chocolat, and a profiterole. He takes no offense that the shopkeeper helps the younger customer first, though he should. Time is important, he should care, but he is not his usual self that morning, as his withering routine attests. 

Inaho looks on instinct, as the child grabs the offered pastries, and hands over his money. Because Inaho has trained himself to check every small face he passes. 

He gets one look, before the child hurries out of the bakery, and time stands still. His clock starts moving again; it's a match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the tense screwy? I'm sorry if it is...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. School is over on my end of things, for the most part, so I hope to update things faster again on the Aldnoah front. Thank you all for your kind support!

He does not pay for his pastry, or whatever the hell it was he had blindly pointed at. He also doesn't get it, so he is sure that it's fine. Inaho is long gone by the time the clerk even notices he has left the store. It doesn't matter even slightly. What does matter is the small child walking down the Paris street in front of him. 

The rational side of him knows that he is being too obvious. He is tailing a ten year old in broad daylight; it is almost the definition of suspicious. The clerk at the pastry store could have seen him, and called the police. There are many problems with simply following, but Inaho does it none the less. He listens to the logical, rational part of his brain with calm indifference, and continues to follow the boy anyway. Inaho can't allow the child to get away, no matter what, he can't allow it. There are certainly less obvious ways of finding him again, but Inaho knows better. He's searched Paris several times, the documents, the pictures, the people. Numerous times in his seven years of searching, and he never once found this child. Never once laid his eye on him. If this child had been in Paris before, he would have known, but the child was not. This child is new here, has not been in Paris for too long, and might not be for long. Inaho cannot run the chance of missing him, not now when he is within Inaho's grasp.

Thus, he follows; there is no question or debate. What he can't decide on, is to catch up, to engage, or to simply remain a shadow until he has more information to go on. What he does know, is that the child is completely alone. There is no parent waiting outside, or down the street, or in a car somewhere. There is obviously none of that. He is only ten, small, breakable, and alone on a Paris street. It's enough to make Inaho mad, enough to make him want to hide the child away because obviously someone does not treasure him as they should. Where are his parents? They should know better than to let him wander alone like this. They should go with him, and hold his hand, and be there. They are not, and it is aggravating. The world is a dangerous place, and his parents should care. Inaho internally fumes as the child slips into a small market. Inaho follows him only a few moments later.

He decides to engage, because the store is an ideal place to do so. He can talk about menial things and have a legitimate reason for being in the same space without seeming like some form of creep or stalker or molester. But the decision to engage does bring about an entirely different problem; French. The child speaks French, and his French is lacking. He is going to have to stumble his way through a conversation with this child, and hope he understands what is said. He's going to have to get better at French in a rather short time to have any sort of meaningful conversation with the child, but of course that is no problem. Inaho has already spent years on this project, now with it so close to completion, with the child in his sights, a simple language barrier isn't going to deter him for long. 

As it happens, he actually has nothing to worry about. 

As Inaho enters the shop the attendant says something to him in French, and Inaho is so startled by the action, that he looks over at the man with a great deal of intensity. He is irritated that his thoughts were interrupted, but the clerk gives no indication of caring, and simply repeats his statement. Perhaps in a normal state of being, he would respond rationally. He might think of what the attendant might be asking him, he might even consider exactly what was said and try to determine what it meant. Normally, Inaho might do both of these things, but today he is too concerned with the very important child wandering over to the coffee section of the market. Instead, Inaho offers an uncharacteristically snappish "What?" in English. Of course, this wins him no points, and the attendant gives him a dirty look, and starts rattling off in French at him. Inaho has no patience for it then and there. This person should simply walk away and leave him alone, because the child is looking at them now in obvious curiosity, with those stunning eyes of his, and all Inaho wants to do is walk over and look at them for years. And talk, he'd like to talk too. 

He is saved from the agony of the shop keeper, when the child hesitantly speaks up, in fluid English. "He was just greeting you, and welcoming you to the store." The clerk stops at that, and chatters kindly over at the child, who answers back softly in French before the clerk snubs his nose at Inaho, and walks away. Inaho takes this perfect opportunity, and walks over to the child. "Though he thinks it would be good if you learned French before coming to Paris..." The child states, fidgeting now that he is the center of Inaho's attention. Inaho is positive that this particular attendant had a lot more to say on the matter, and in less kind words, but that isn't really his concern. All he can think is 'Look at me. Look at me. Please look at me with those beautiful eyes of yours.' but that is too obvious. He schools himself before it comes tumbling out of his mouth, and he sounds like an irrational person.

"Thank you" is what does come out of his mouth. It is too abrupt; he does not say enough, it is obvious that his mind is a million miles away. He has to remind himself that this child does not know him, will not notice these things. 

The child shakes his head, still looking downward. Is that a learned response? Is someone teaching him to keep his head down, to be demure and skittish? It is all wrong, but Inaho keeps that part of his brain as quiet as it can be. This is neither the time nor the place. The child moves his head to the side in obvious, nervous discomfort, and holds the bag in front of him nervously. Does he know that Inaho followed him? Is he worried? Or does he lack proper socializing? Do older people frighten him? There are so many questions that Inaho has, that he wants answers to. He wants to know every little detail that he can, but of course there is no time for such things. "No, you don't need to thank me..." Dismissal of deserved gratitude, another tell tale sign of lack of assertion. This is in no way acceptable. Where is this child's parents? 

"Do I frighten you?" The statement is probably too blunt, but the child is fidgeting horribly, and refusing to look up. Inaho saw him not five minutes ago conversing happily with the clerk at the bakery. This shows either a decent amount of familiarity, or that his social skills are above what he is currently projecting, or, Inaho has already spooked him. He needs to know which variable he is dealing with, so best to handle it. 

The child fidgets more under his gaze and question, and his shoulders rise in obvious discomfort. "N-no, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Obviously his choice of being obtuse is the wrong one. The child does not respond positively. This is something to note, so Inaho does just that, files the information away and knows that his tactics must change. There seems to be quite a bit of nurture in this situation vs. the nature that Inaho has been expecting, but it is within reasonable parameters. If he is being honest, anything is within reasonable parameters, but that is a minor detail. Inaho can handle this, and he will. He is capable of being less confrontational.

Inaho shakes his head in dismissal, hoping that the boy will look up at him. He is pleased when the boy gives him a shy upward glance, before those blue-green eyes dart back down to the ground. It is too quick, too skittish, but it is a glimpse and it is enough for now. "There is no need to apologize. I did not mean to startle or unnerve you in anyway." Inaho looks down at the box of instant coffee in the child's arm, and the oversized billfold his hands clutch tightly, and decides something very quickly. "At the bakery," Inaho states, and pulls out the 5 euro bill he was going to use to pay for the pastry. He is now very glad he did not. "You dropped this." 

The child blinks down at the bill for a few seconds in confusion, before looking up at Inaho. He shakes his little head, and his light blond hair floats around him like feathers drifting in a blue-green ocean breeze. "It isn't mine." 

Inaho blinks. "Pardon?" 

The small child shakes his head again, but this time, he is looking up at Inaho without as much reservation. "I counted my money, sir, and I paid with a 5 euro note." He shakes his head again after the statement, but his eyes never leave Inaho's. It makes it very difficult to concentrate. "It can't be mine." 

Inaho should know better than this. He isn't a good liar, he had gotten better over the years of hiding, but omitting truths or only telling half truths is not the same as outright lying. He is very skilled at the others, and less so at the more obvious one. This is of course all compounded by the fact that he is unmistakably shaken. Ten years of solitude are suddenly over, and now he had to move in to the more delicate phase. He has to somehow make himself a permanent fixture in this child's life. From now on, he needs to do this; it is the only thing he wants. Perhaps when he is a permanent fixture, when he has found his place again, and his pieces all match and fit together, he can start on other things. Maybe then, he can move forward, like Yuki wants him to. But now, now he must make sure this place is there for him. It is necessary, and he is not doing a decent job of it yet. 

"I apologize." Inaho states simply, and means it. It is for lying, more than anything, but of course the child will not know that. "I was mistaken." Which is also true. He should not have come up with something so underhanded to commemorate this reuniting of souls. It was an unworthy gesture. Instead, he motions his head towards the box of instant coffee in the child's hand. "Are you purchasing that?"

The child nods sheepishly, perhaps unsure why Inaho is still talking to him. It doesn't matter. Inaho cocks his head a little to the left, before speaking. "That isn't a very good quality coffee. Let me show you a better one." He doesn't reach over and take the child's hand, that would be wrong, but he does almost smile, when the child briskly walks to keep up pace with him. Inaho cannot deny that he is happy.


	4. Chapter 4

The child is small, he notes. He's no expert on children, but he's seen enough ten year olds to know that this one is small, and scrawny. Inaho wants to know if it is genetic or the result of mistreatment. Is the child eating well? Is he eating nutritious food? Does someone take care in what is prepared for him? Or is he living on Paris bakeries, American fast food, Pizza delivery, and instant coffee? The thought is inherently disturbing, and does not ease his concerns in the least. It is already too much that the child is alone. Far, far too much. 

Inaho tries not to let it bother him, but it is not easy. He focuses on the child. On the bob of his hair, on the downward tilt of those eyes, on the cute little cheeks that will give way as he grows, on the nervous worrying of his fingers. There is a lot to focus on, a lot to notice.

He picks up a pack of coffee beans, the best in the store from what he can see, and looks down at the child. "This is much better." Inaho states, as he shows the product to the child. For being such a young child, the boy dutifully takes the package from him, and looks it over with what Inaho calls a critical eye. It reminds him of many things, but he keeps that to himself, deep and buried in years of loss and loneliness. Now is not the time. 

The child shakes his head diminutively, and looks up at him with skittish eyes that blink and divert quickly. "We don't have a coffee grinder, sir." 

That is easily fixed. "I'm sure they have them here." Inaho states. He thinks how he should be looking for them, but his eyes are still on the child, as his blue-green eyes appraise the two things of coffee in his hands. "I'm sure they're close by."

The child doesn't meet his eyes, just shakes his head once more. "My dad wouldn't like something like that. He always drinks instant." 

Inaho contemplates the answer, and finds it a suitable thing, though he has no concept of why any sane adult would object to owning a coffee grinder. He is also somewhat pleased that the coffee is for the father, and not the child. Children should not drink high doses of caffeine. It's bad for them. 

He looks at the display of coffee, and picks out a better brand of instant coffee instead. He offers it to the child, taking the coffee beans away, and placing them back on the shelf. "For instant coffee, this is better." 

The child nods his head softly, and takes the offered coffee. By this time, Inaho notices that the store attendant has started to hover around their isle. He doesn't really do anything, but he's sort of meandering one isle over, organizing things, looking at other things. There are plenty of reasons for this, but Inaho has a suspicion he knows exactly why. 

It seems that he is a new variable. Just as the clerk at the bakery knew the child, this attendant also does. The child must be living close by, and likely makes a trip to these places rather often. This is a relief, because the probability of finding the child again is that much higher, but it also implies that the clerk of the store has a decent understanding that Inaho is new. That Inaho does not belong in this image. These are all likely silly paranoia on his part, but he won't take any chances. The last thing he needs is some stranger making accusations that might get them separated for a time. He doesn't even have the child's name. He needs that. 

"It costs more..." The child's soft voice takes him away from his thoughts, and he once again has eyes only for the small child next to him. He wonders if his neck will ever get tired of looking down, before he answers that question with an aggressive no, no never. 

Inaho cocks his head to the side just a little. He stays mindful of the store clerk, who's eyes are turned away, but who is no doubt listening intently. "That isn't a problem. I'll buy it for you so he can try it. He can decide if it is something he prefers." 

The child looks up at him, his eyes generally disbelieving. "N-no thank you, sir..." the stutter is back. He has likely been too forward. The child probably doesn't understand. Probably because it doesn't actually make sense for a stranger to give things to him, but that's fine. It's all fine as long as the damned clerk doesn't call the police or haul him away before he gets a name. That is the most important factor here. 

Inaho shakes his head once. "It's not an issue. It isn't expensive for me, and I am sure your father will prefer it. Is your father here so that you can ask him?" The answer is no of course. There are no supervising adults other than he, and the very nosy, suspicious store clerk one isle over. That irks him, that the child is left all alone, but it is something that he lets go for the moment. 

The child shakes his head softly. "He's still at the hotel sleeping." A hotel. That solves a few more problems. He can calibrate where the closest hotels are, and cross reference their list of inhabitants. That's something he's capable of, but there is the possibility that the child will be gone within a day or so. It is not enough, but it is a start. He must narrow that search.

"And your mother? Surely she is awake already." 

The child shakes his head again, but does not elaborate this time. The weight that comes over him, seems to imply that she is dead. Inaho knows how that looks, watched Yuki wear the same face for years and years. He regrets asking. It was impersonal. It doesn't stop him from asking the next question. "Are you in Paris on holiday?" The more appropriate question is why are you not in school, but Inaho does not ask that. Being too direct has gotten him little so far, he needs to make more prudent moves. 

The child shakes his head again, but this time it is a bit more animated; it is not a sad gesture. "For my father's work." The child states, looking up at him more inquisitively than before. Perhaps the father is a neutral topic. Odd to consider, but none the less something he can work with. 

"Then I will get you the coffee. A working man needs good coffee." He can see the child start to shake his head again, but before the child can object, he speaks again. "I insist." 

And with that, it is simply so. The child doesn't protest, though he looks uncomfortable as Inaho takes the coffee in his hands, and the two of them travel to the counter to pay for it. The clerk eyes him suspiciously, but Inaho does not mind him. Inaho looks down at the child again. "How long will you and your father be in Paris?" He buys the coffee, and carefully pulls a folded canvas bag out of his pocket. It has 'The Eye Print Project!' stamped on it, along with the image of a blue eye who's color is nothing but rubbish compared to the splendor of its base. It was a marketing ploy to raise more funds, hatched up by one of his interns. It also has his name, scrawled in messy sharpie, on the inside. He puts the coffee inside it, and hands it to the child. It is perhaps to obvious, but he will deal with that when the time is necessary. 

"Two weeks, I think." States the child, studying the bag for a few seconds, before he looks up at Inaho, and his eyes are even more inquisitive than before. "I read about this study in my dad's magazines." the child states. All Inaho can do is blink in surprise. "He gets lots of magazines for work. I like to read them. Sometimes, I don't understand everything, but I understood this one." The child is smiling at him. It is the first time the child has done so, and Inaho is finding it difficult to breathe. The child seems pleased that he knows something that an adult does. He is smart, Inaho realizes. Very, very smart, and Inaho is very, very happy. "It sounded like a book, or a movie, but it's real. It sounds really hard, finding one person. The world is really big, but it's amazing that someone is doing that." The child looks down at the bag again, his eyes rest on the blue of the eye printed on it. "The magazine said he's been looking for more then five years. That's a long time. I hope he finds who he's looking for." The statement is almost wistful, and it strikes him as strange to hear, from a child so young. There is a soft smile on his face, as if the child is also remembering something past his years. "The person he's looking for must be really important." 

"He is." It is out of his mouth, before Inaho can rein it back in, before he can compose every cell and organism that make up the being that is him. He must compose himself. He should have expected something like this, but he didn't. Never in a million years would he have expected this blessing, and it leaves him stunned and reassured in the validity of all that is right with the world. Even though it took her away, it has given him this, and he has never been more grateful for this child.

Those eye are on him, those bright, inquisitive eyes that want to know what he means, that want to understand. He cannot do this now, he cannot fall to his knees in this market, with the clerk looking at him as if he is some sort of molester, he simply cannot, even if the world is spinning and his knees are weak, and his palms are sweaty, and he wants to just pick this child up and carry him home. It would all be over in a flash, one phone call, so he holds it all in. He diverts. "He has been, I mean. He has been looking for over five years."

The child's face does not drop, but he can see it calm. He can almost imagine this child, belly down on a hotel bed, leafing through scientific periodicals, speeding through library books, giggling and pondering and excited about all he reads. At this rate, he is going to go crazy. "It is a large project." He states it, because he must fill this with sound, with something, or it will become obvious that his heart is bleeding onto the floor like a fool. "It could take many, many years." 

The child nods, and puts his items on the counter. The clerk continues to look at Inaho suspiciously, but rings the items up. "I understand." The child says, and he looks very far away for a moment, and it ages him more than it should. "My dad is working on a big project too. He's always had it." The child looks down at the oversized billfold gripped in his hands, and carefully takes out the money he will need for the exchange. "His friends say it keeps him busy." The child finally says, after what seems like a very long pause that only really lasts a few seconds. 

Inaho knows how to read between the lines. "Is he always busy?" Inaho already knows the answer, but he decide to give this faceless man the benefit of the doubt. He isn't sure if fate has put them in this place together for any other reason, but he will discern that soon enough. 

The child nods once, his eyes down and melancholy as he takes the change that the clerk offers him, and puts it in the large billfold. "Yes." 

It is not a good enough answer.


	5. Chapter 5

They leave the store together. Whatever misgivings made the store clerk suspicious, does not make him stop the two of them as they depart. Inaho does not express his gratitude, but feels it strongly none the less.

"Does your father do research?" Inaho asks, as the child steps out into the light of day, or the cloud cover of a Paris winter, as it were. It is not too cold, but it is too cold for what the child is wearing. His small jacket is not nearly enough. He should be wearing more, and Inaho can see him shiver just a hair as he walks into the street. Those luminous eyes of his look hesitantly in the direction he's suppose to be going, before looking back up at Inaho, laced with a hint of concern and curiosity. It is quite obvious that the child is wondering if he should stay and talk, or if he should excuse himself to wander back to his hotel room. Inaho wonders if his father is waking up, will expect whatever sugary nonsense this child has bought from the baker, and the instant, cheap coffee. He does not like the thought. 

Inaho makes the decision for him, and starts walking in the direction the child obviously wants to go. He blinks, and his little mouth forms a small o, but he follows obediently. Inaho isn't sure if he likes that obedience yet. Is it learned, is it genetic, is it forced, is it natural? He wants to know. There are too many things he desperately wants to know.

"Yes, sir." The 'sir' is added a five seconds after the 'yes', as if the child had to think about adding it, instead of the polite addition being second nature, as it was before. Inaho chooses to takes that as a good sign. The answer is also rather helpful. It narrows things down, even if there are plenty of people in Paris doing research. It is something to consider in his search parameters. Now, Inaho must make those search parameters even smaller. He has accepted, that he likely should not ask for a name right then and there. It could be too risky, so he doesn't. Instead, he is going to endeavor to find this child's father. If he is a researcher at one of Paris's institutes, it shouldn't be too hard to find him, but any minor details will be useful.

"What does he research?" Inaho should be keeping his eyes forward, and paying close attention to where they are, where they are going, where they will end up, but that is hard. The child doesn't seem as hesitant anymore, he walks evenly, and seems more comfortable. Is his presence being adjusted too so quickly? Inaho cannot say, but the child is certainly more fetching when he is not so guarded, when his eyes sparkle, instead of clouding with apprehension. It is something to see, and he is grateful to be witnessing it, so he doesn't pay a great deal of attention to their surroundings. Inaho imagines he will have time for that much later.

The child looks up at him with those beautiful eyes. "Mars" Inaho blinks down at the child, and he continues. "In his lectures, he talks about how beautiful it is, and how it could be like Earth one day." Inaho considers the words very carefully. The image comes to mind of this small child, sitting in a large auditorium of college students who are chatting about things he doesn't understand, the seat too big for his little body, his legs swinging, as he quietly listens to what his father says at the podium. It contrasts starkly with the second image that comes to mind, of a father that talks more to crowds and students, than to his own son. 

Inaho doesn't like it at all, but he reminds himself to be impartial. He has not met this man, should not judge him on the emotional and flippant words of a ten year old. He regrets that thought instantly. This is not just ANY ten year old, this is her, but not her. This child is important, and his father is not doing enough to make him happy. It is difficult to be impartial with such a stark reminder. If he was this child's father, there would be a great many differences in his life. Inaho cannot help but feel this way. He thought in error that it would be enough to simply be a part of this child's life, even if it was only in some minor capacity. He sees now that he was entirely wrong. He wonders if it would be better if this child was being obviously well cared for. Inaho doesn't know. 

"He must enjoy it." Is all he can force himself to say. He has a hard time imagining someone so invested in a dead planet that they ignore a living breathing child, and he also has a hard time relating his own zeal for research onto someone who is only interested in something he will likely never reach. It is ludicrous. 

The child nods his head once. "I think so." Another evasive answer. Inaho thinks that this child is far too young to be playing such word game already. It worries Inaho, but it also intrigues him. There is much to be said about a child who already knows how to say what he means, without actually saying it. His estimation of this child's intelligence is again reassured. Part of him thinks that perhaps he had just assumed that children of this age are simple and uninteresting; he's spent a great deal of time looking at them, but never with them. The louder part of him says that this child is different, special, unique, and precious. There is no surprise in which voice he pays more attention to. 

Inaho nods slightly at the child's answer, and decides to change topics. "What school do you go to?" Because it is a school day and this child is not in school getting a proper education, where Inaho would have found him much sooner. 

This question brings back the hesitancy, and the fiddling of the child's fingers, as they grip the canvas bag. "I wasn't very good at school. Father took me out." That is a lie, or as close to an outright lie as this child gets. Inaho can see it in his shoulders, as they come up, as if he can hide between them, as he bites his lip every so softly, and as the child digs his nails tightly into the bag he is holding. They are all tell tale signs, and things that he suddenly remembers her doing when she was young. They are all signs of nervousness, but Inaho knows better. He could always tell when she was lying, and often, he let her. He will do the same now.

Inaho can imagine that there was trouble, that the child didn't get along, just as she never got along, and how his peers tormented him. Inaho can imagine that, but it is not the whole story, if it happened at all. The child looks up at him, and whatever lie was in the words before, the next ones holds no deception. "I have workbooks. I finish those, and get more." 

Inaho gazes at those blue green eyes, looking up at him, of the clear waters teaming within them, and he is mesmerized. He has to do something, so he says "Do you like them?" not even really sure what he's asking. He just has to put sound back into the world or he's going to drown. 

The boy looks up at him for another five seconds, before he nods his head, and looks forward again. Inaho can suddenly think and breathe again. It is maddening and exhilarating all in one erratic, crazed go. He reminds himself that he was denied for a long time, that he was stuck in a desert with no water, and now, he is suddenly in the ocean, trying to stay afloat. It makes sense that he needs time to adapt. He reminds himself of this, but can't help but feel that he is woefully unprepared for this situation. "Mmhm, I like them. I like learning things." 

It takes Inaho longer than it should to figure out exactly what the child is talking about. He has to play a mental game of catch up to realize that the child is talking about the workbooks, and that Inaho actually asked about them, so it isn't strange that the child responded in that way. It takes him far too long to figure all this out. He feels crazy. "Did you like school?" Inaho is surprised at how calm he sounds, how collected and with it and rational his voice is. Perhaps he should not be, he's always been hard to read, people can't understand him at all, but he feels quite exposed in front of this child. There is no indication that he is, but he feels that he is, because she would see it like pocks on his face. The child doesn't know him, and it must not be so obvious. What would he do if he knew? Maybe run away, the thoughts are certainly overwhelming for Inaho, he can't imagine how a child would handle them.

As Inaho contemplates his own sanity, those blue green eyes turn furtive, and downward. The child doesn't answer with words, just one soft nod of his head, and the tightening of the grip on the bag in his small little hands. 

\/

After Inaho says his goodbyes to the small child, after walking him to his hotel, after going back to his own hotel and taking a long, warm bath to collect the tatters of his thoughts, it is surprisingly easy to locate this child's father with rather high amounts of certainty. 

Dr. Carthach Troyard, 37. A well documented astrobiologist of decent renown. His focus is on the hypothetical terraforming of Mars. He has published two books, and several studies on the subject for a variety of scientific journals. Currently in Paris looking into the use of a new theoretical simulator in development and giving lectures in the interim. 

What makes the search so easy, despite no mention of a child, is Dr. Troyard himself. His eyes are a strikingly similar color. His hair, though a touch grey, is also of a similar, fluffy consistency. Inaho is also pleased to see that he is a generally attractive man; tall, and studious, despite the hard eyes and serious face. 

Once he has Dr. Troyard's name, he does his homework on finding the son. He's spent plenty of time acquiring software and databases that would be useful in this sort of situation. They cost a pretty penny, but in the area of study he has immersed himself, they are simply one more tool to be used. Now with his objective found, he'll be terminating his need for them in a rather short time period. Unless Dr. Troyard absconds off to some strange place, in which Inaho will have to track him down again. But, he's already formulating a strategy against that. 

It doesn't take him long to find the boy. Slaine Troyard, ten years old, born January 11th. The image that looks back at him is one from a primary school in Vienna, of a nervous looking six year old, with flyaway hair, and luminous blue-green eyes. 

Inaho saves the image, and prints it out. He'll make a better quality photo later, and with any luck, he'll add many more as time goes by. But for now, his low grade portable printer will do. He cuts out the image, and puts it in the back of his wallet, where he used to keep her picture, before he burned every image he could find of her 8 years ago. He'd left that space blank since then, to remind himself what damage he could do in his grief. Now, it is filled again. 

It is only mid day, but he is exhausted. Inaho crawls into bed, and allows himself to fall into sleep. And if he cries, it is only out of joy and relief. Ten years, is a long time to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. I struggled with this chapter, and I am rather stressed with my personal life at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Yas this is all your fault.


End file.
